


and wrought his doom

by apotheosizing



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: M/M, Relationship Study, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apotheosizing/pseuds/apotheosizing
Summary: Reflections on a courtship, a transformation, and a victory.





	1. Chapter 1

_He told you that the first time he saw you, you stole his breath away. You remember making some half-hearted joke about whether or not he missed needing to breathe to cover up the warm feeling in your chest his words conjured up._

That was the first thing you remembered when you came back to yourself, lying on the sleek obsidian of the steps leading up from the tributary river that weaved across the Shadowfel. The cold stone against your cheek brought other, colder memories to the fore: the look in his eyes when he realized what you intended to do, the merciless sting of the magic brought to bear against you that ducked and weaved to avoid, the splinter of doubt that lodged itself in your heart ( _far too late to think of that now, wasn't it_ ). Thoughts of cold brought your hand to the scabbard at your side, brought into focus the absence of that metallic voice in your mind. The scabbard, scorched and warped by the magical blows it had endured, was empty. Still fluid, your mind turned to the past again, trying to pull together the vague impressions of what had happened.

_The wind tousles your hair, whispers through the grass, and causes your companion's cloak to flap behind him. He says something to you and, although you-now can't hear it, the you in the memory laughs. Behind you, a tower is burning._

You grasp at the memory, but nothing holds. Perhaps it is a product of your proximity to that dark obelisk that holds the menagerie of memories that drift ashore here, perhaps it is a consequence of being knocked through the barriers between dimensions without any mental preparation. You decide to start smaller - moving the fingers on one hand, then the other once you're satisfied with its range of mobility; pressing both hands on the stone to push yourself to your feet. You sway in time with the rush of blood to your head, continuing to trawl through your thoughts like a warship for its dead.

_You'd been by his side through all the final preparations, watched him recite the profane words of the ritual, administered the sickly green potion to him with your own hands. When he came out the other side a new creature, he insisted on bestowing a gift upon you as you had on him._

The two of you had always avoided the fortress, despite his desire to rule supreme from this very spot. Even now, after what you'd done, you felt somewhat traitorous as you stumbled up the riverbank. Effortlessly standing in this place neither of you thought you'd ever see. The silence - the absence of the insistent voice of the blade and the lack of the murmurs he'd always unconsciously produced while deeply embroiled in study - is stark and uncomfortable.

_The blade, forged from a fragment of his own soul, he said, glittered the same gleam as did his eyes when he spoke to you. It felt natural in your hand, perfect. When it spoke, it spoke with his voice and you listened. You shouldn't have listened._

And yet, you realized with a start, that you don't regret it. You started walking. You kept walking. You didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

_He told you that the first time he saw you, he'd dismissed you out of hand as a jumped-up wizard with an ego to match. You told him that you forgave his lack of foresight with regard to how your lives would intertwine. And besides, he hadn't been entirely incorrect on that first impression._

The thrice-damned traitorous blade clattered to the cold obsidian of the antechamber as its wielder was banished from the plane. In the ensuing terrible silence, your shock-sparked anger faded to a dull ache of heartache, an echo of the sharper pain of wounds you suspected were fatal. Quiet gave way to the thousand little sounds of activity as a pair of reanimated undead scuttled into the room. One bent to retrieve the sword while the other stood silently at your elbow, awaiting any instructions you might have. Contempt clear in every line of your body, you took the sword from skeletal hands and turned it over in your gloved ones. Your blood still dripped lazily from its edge. An impulse to unmake it then and there overcame you but it was beyond your ability in this state. A wave of your hand folded it into a demiplane to be dealt with later. You closed your eyes.

_The ashes of your victory still fresh on your tongues, riding on the nadir of adrenaline, the two of you had exchanged the quiet words that cemented themselves into a bond much deeper than general and lieutenant. You remember them perfectly, even now._

How had it come to this? A sigh whistled through your ribcage as the fragments of your phylactery fell from your grasp. First your heart, then your soul. He had been thorough in his destruction of both. His unerring eye for ruthlessness had been a quality you'd appreciated as early as the days when he had been only the nameless man you'd seen carving through the enemy's forces from afar. Another gesture dismissed your attendants. Fatal was - for one such as yourself on the cusp of apotheosis - a relative term, but your body had never forgotten its mortality and a faint tinge of panic sat on the rim of your thoughts. Unbidden, recollections of your time together rushed in like a balm, yet feeling more like ripping the stitches from a freshly healed wound.

 _You told him, with airy amusement in your voice, that you were putting your life in his hands. He didn't laugh. You took his hand, whispered brief assurances, and pressed a kiss to his brow. You closed your eyes and when you opened them, you felt_ alive _._

Rebuilding would begin with your manifestation on this plane. It was simple to deal with, despite its relative complexity - you hadn't wrapped it up so deeply in the existence of another by your side. You couldn't help but scoff at how soft you had gotten. How _trusting_. It was a mistake you would not repeat in these reconstructions. And then, you could turn your attentions to the cause of this schism.

_The blade, forged from a fragment of your own soul, sung ethereal in the presence of the man meant to wield it. As he spent more and more time listening to its song, you begun to wonder what pretty words it was speaking into his ear. Alas, you wondered far too late._

Of course, the time for regret was long past. Your last dregs of mortality shed like an old, cracked chrysalis as the first rays of the sun began to peak over the horizon. You turned your back on it and embraced the eternity ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this interpretation of their relationship based solely on extrapolation from vague references to it in item descriptions? Yes. Will I stand by it as canon-compliant regardless? Also yes.


End file.
